BREATHE by Sloan Parker

Warning:
This book contains adult material and sexual situations not
suitable for reading by minors. For adults ONLY, as defined
by the laws of the country in which you live.
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Genre: Gay Erotic
Romance/Suspense (M/M)

Chapter One

Hope you found some
peace in jail. You never will again.

Lincoln McCaw read the
note one last time and crushed the paper in his
fist. The bus jerked forward as it came to a stop.
No need to check. He was home. The smell of hog
manure from the surrounding farmlands and the
burning steel of his hometown’s only manufacturing
plant filtered in through the crack in the window
one seat over. Funny how he couldn’t feel the
coolness of the winter air hissing in through that
crack.

Maybe he never would
again.

He stuffed the
wadded-up note into his duffel bag, stood, and
headed to the front of the bus. The jail wasn’t far
from Edgefield, but he hadn’t wanted Nancy waiting
for him outside. Who knew what sort of people lurked
outside a jailhouse.

He laughed at that.
Who was he afraid of? Men like him?

Six months in the
county jail. His fellow inmates and the deputies
probably thought he was the worst of the lot. He’d
spent more days there than most of the guys who came
and went. Some spent less time at the state pen.

But the jail was
behind him now. It was over. Wasn’t it?

Not according to the
latest “love letter” he had tucked in his bag.

He stepped off the
bus. The driver shut the door and pulled away as
soon as Lincoln’s boots hit the pavement. Not
surprising. Most didn’t want to stick around the
three-stoplight town. But Lincoln did. He had a lot
of reasons to be there. A lot of reasons he’d never
leave.

Clear plastic walls
surrounded the bus stop bench, cracked on all three
sides and coated in a slime no amount of scrubbing
with the industrial strength cleaner they’d used at
the jail would remove. No one would wait inside the
enclosure, no matter how desperate they were for a
bus out of Edgefield.

He checked anyway.
Splinters covered the faded wood of the bench. If
anyone sat there, they’d get an ass full of tiny
wooden daggers. Not the best way to ride the bus.
Edgefield was so damn inconsequential nobody at the
Metro Transit Authority probably gave a shit about
the upkeep on the small-town stop that made up the
farthest point of the outlying community bus route.

Home sweet home.

“Lincoln!” Nancy
crossed the parking lot behind the bench, waving her
arms through the air, a smile spread across her
face. She quickened her stride. He did the same and
hugged her when they met. The warm embrace reminded
him of their mom, reminded him one person in the
world loved him. She squeezed tighter.

“Nance, I can’t
breathe.”

“Oh sorry.” She
released him and stepped back. She wore a brown and
orange waitress uniform and those heavy-duty shoes
nurses wore, designed for support and long-wearing
comfort. Hers were dingy, nowhere close to the white
they must’ve started out as, and were on their last
leg. They wouldn’t provide much support or comfort.
Her disheveled dark hair fell from the ponytail in
several places, and she had a hint of makeup smudged
under and over her eyes. Exhausted. His baby sister
was working herself to death.

Despite that, her eyes
shone at him. The smile was also a reminder of their
mom. Nancy had always taken after their mother in a
physical way. Whereas he looked more like their dad
with skin tone and features that gave a nod to their
Iroquois heritage.

“Just missed you,” she
said.

“Missed you too.”

“I wish you would’ve
let me visit. Was it bad?”

“Nah. It was okay.” No
need to tell her about the gray food that smelled of
dish soap, the foul stench from the unwashed inmates
he shared space with, the lack of privacy, the
endless hard surfaces of metal bars and concrete
floors, or the countless cracks about his
short-lived racing career from the two good ol’ boys
who’d recognized him.

He’d hated every
minute of his time there.

And he deserved far
worse.

“Come on. I parked
over here.” She tilted her head to the left and
pointed to the vehicle she’d driven. His black
pickup. The damn thing looked huge in the empty lot.

He missed the truck.
He also hated the hell out of it. Like it was the
truck’s fault.

Nancy had parked next
to the County Cooler, an ice-cream stand run by the
Drakes, the elderly couple who’d owned the place
since Lincoln had been a kid. Every winter they
boarded up the stand and headed south to visit their
grandkids in Texas. When the place closed, it always
had the look of a shack you’d see Bo and Luke Duke
plow the General Lee through as Rosco P. Coltrane
chased them down. In Lincoln’s day, local teens
needing a dry place to hold their beerfest orgy
sneaked in during the long winter months while the
Drakes were out of town.

An open window near
the garbage bin was missing several slats of wood.
Lincoln smirked. Same window he’d used when he first
had sex with Tommy Vanderline during their sophomore
year of high school. Nice to know some things never
changed.

“You wanna drive?”
Nancy asked.

His smirk vanished.
“No.” He yanked open the passenger-side door, tossed
in his bag, and sat.

Then again—sometimes
everything changed.

Nancy slid into the
driver’s side and wrenched the seat forward until
her feet touched the pedals. “Sorry. I thought you
might want to. You haven’t tried it out since it
came back from the body shop.”

He leaned his elbow on
the armrest of the door and stared out the side
window. “Can’t. Restricted to work privileges. There
and back. That’s it.”

They drove in silence,
the darkness surrounding them in the cab, the sound
of the truck’s heater filling the void of unasked
questions until he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“Did he hit you
again?”

He would’ve missed her
slight nod if it weren't for the dim display of the
dashboard. She turned away from him as though
checking the side street traffic at the next
intersection.

“You didn’t call the
cops?”

“I should have,” she
said.

“Fuck, yes, you should
have.” Lincoln stabbed at the door lock with two
fingers. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. He took a deep
breath and let off on the button. She didn’t need
him being an ass. “When did he come back?”

“The Friday after you
left.”

“How long did he
stay?”

“Until a couple of
weeks ago.”

“Jesus, Nance!”

“I needed—I couldn’t
afford the hospital bills without him, or her
medicine without his insurance.”

“Well, now you can.
Soon as I get a new job.” He’d take care of her like
he should’ve been doing for the past six months. If
he had been there, Mel wouldn’t have had a chance to
hurt her again. “Is he gone for good?”

She didn’t answer.

“Why not?”

“He left some of his
stuff.”

“You let me know the
minute he shows up.” He’d remind the asshole that
family looks after their own. “The kids okay? Did
he—”

“No!” Her tone was
defensive, and she threw him an angry look before
she focused on the deserted street ahead. He
shouldn’t have asked. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt
her kids.

When she spoke again,
her voice was under control, more conversational.
“Could you stay with Davy and Jessica tomorrow after
school? Adam has basketball practice.” Softer she
added, “They’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

He stared out the
window into the darkness and said, “I’ll be there.”

A block from Nancy’s,
they pulled up to a stop sign next to the Late Night
Paradise Plaza—home to the only all-night gas
station and carryout in town, a movie rental shop,
and Sonny’s Tavern.

Lincoln sat taller.
“Can we make a stop? I need smokes.”

“Lincoln…”

“I’ll quit again. Just
need a pack to get me through the transition.”

She sighed and turned
into the plaza’s drive.

The neon signs
advertising an ATM machine, lottery tickets, and
beer had him shielding his eyes with the back of his
hand. There were no neon lights in jail. Sounded
like the title of a country music song. Something
his fans would have blasted from their car stereos
as they drove in on race night. He reached for the
truck’s door handle, but her voice stopped him.

“No smoking around the
kids, okay?”

He opened the door and
said, “You know I won’t.”

“Or in the house,”
Nancy called through the side window as he strode
for the store.

Lincoln waved an okay
sign her way and opened the door to the carryout. A
young man passed by the front of the store, hands
shoved inside his pockets, head down as if he had to
watch his every step. Lincoln froze in the doorway.

Great-looking guy.
Nice body.

The kid headed for
Sonny’s Tavern.

Great ass too.

Fuck. Lincoln
had been away too long. Not a good idea—gawking at
straight guys on the streets of Edgefield. But…the
kid had stopped, hand on Sonny’s front door,
replicating Lincoln’s frozen stance. He was staring
at Lincoln, his mouth parted, his eyes conveying a
hunger Lincoln knew all too well.

The door to Sonny’s
burst outward, almost smacking the kid in the
forehead, and two guys exited. The kid moved out of
their way, then slipped inside, his gaze on his feet
again.

Lincoln’s body
screamed at him to follow. He ignored it and entered
the carryout.

What was that look?
Something?

It didn’t matter.

He passed by the front
counter with the smokes and found what he’d really
wanted—a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He grabbed two for
good measure.

Another man might have
chosen a stool farther from the entrance. Not Jay
Miller. The cold didn’t bother him. Why would it? He
was already numb.

“They let the bastard
out today.” His dad’s voice cut through the haze of
alcohol. “Six months and now he’s…” He trailed off.

Jay dropped the beer
he’d been nursing for the last fifteen minutes onto
the bar. The bottle clanked and rocked, foam
building, drops of the precious liquid spilling. He
didn’t bother rescuing it. He’d just order another
as soon as his dad left, like he planned to do for
the next couple of hours.

“Your mother’s still
going on about frying his ass, and he gets out the
day before…” His dad cut off midsentence again.
Maybe he always did that. Usually Jay’s mom was
there to continue on.

“Today?” Jay asked.

The look his dad gave
him was comical—if anything could make him laugh
again—as if his dad thought he was mentally
deficient in some way. Maybe he was. How much did
you have to drink before the brain cells died off?

“He’s probably already
back in town.”

In Edgefield?
How long until Jay found himself face-to-face with
the man? He nodded. That was all he could manage.
Six months in jail and the man who killed his wife
was getting his life back. He’d be working and
living and loving. And Katie was turning to dust in
the ground. Jay would never have his life back. He’d
never have anything.

The door swung open
again, and a pair of giggles floated in with whoever
entered the bar. What the hell were they so happy
about?

He had to get out of
there. Get away. Escape all of it.

“Why don’t you come
stay at our place tonight?” his dad said. “You can
sleep in your old room. Then we’ll all visit the
cemetery tomorrow.”

The restroom. Maybe if
he didn’t come out right away his dad would get a
clue.

Jay stood, and the
weight of his body proved too much for his unsure
legs. He sank onto the bar stool. The beers—which he
drank fast and barely tasted—had hit him hard, but
news of Lincoln McCaw’s fate had finished the job.
It was over.

Except it wasn’t. It
never would be.

His dad put a hand on
his back. “Hey, Sonny, get us a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” the bartender
said. When he returned with the coffee mug, he
added, “He’s had a few.”

“I imagine so.” Jay’s
dad pushed the coffee closer.

The smell of it
churned Jay’s stomach. Nothing smelled good anymore.
Nothing tasted good either. What had he last eaten?
And when? Probably why the beer wasn’t settling too
good.

His dad was talking
again. Didn’t he get it? The last thing in the world
Jay wanted to do was give up the beer and face that
McCaw was done with his punishment.

There was one thing
that would give Jay closure. Finally confronting
McCaw, looking the man in the eyes, making him
understand how much he took from the world, making
Lincoln McCaw suffer.

That’d be closure.

Chapter Two

The house was dark
when they pulled into Nancy’s driveway, and Lincoln
said, “Guess I missed the kids.” Damn.
Hearing their voices on the phone hadn’t been the
same.

“I told them to go on
to bed. They’ll see you tomorrow.” She cut the
engine, and they walked to the house in silence.

Nancy opened the front
door, and Sparky barreled into them. The large black
mutt didn’t bark, but he rammed his paws into
Lincoln’s abdomen in greeting.

“He gain more weight?”

“I think the kids have
been feeding him junk food while I’m at work.” She
smiled, but her eyes didn’t join in on the
expression. A working mom with two jobs meant a lot
of nights home alone for her kids.

Lincoln patted
Sparky’s head and sighed as the dog ran off down the
hall. He stepped to the couch in the living room.
Same couch he’d slept on during the long months
between the accident and the start of his time at
the Grant County Justice Center. The secondhand
piece of furniture had been uncomfortable back then.
After months on what could only be described as a
metal slab with a mattress the thickness of a
blanket, the couch was a welcome sight. The
exhaustion of the long day slammed into him. Waiting
for your freedom took a lot out of a man. They had
released him late in the day, and by the time he’d
signed his paperwork and made it to the bus stop, he
had to wait for the last bus, which worked out since
Nancy had been on the late shift.

He dropped his duffel
bag and the paper sack with the smokes and whiskey
onto the couch.

Nancy shook her head
from where she had stopped at the hall doorway that
led to the bedrooms. “I’ve got you set up in Davy’s
room.”

“I was fine on the
couch.”

“That was only for a
couple of months. I was hoping… I thought you said
you’d stay with us.”

He picked up his bags.
“I will.” He followed her and said, “Just don’t want
to put anyone out.”

“Davy’s fine with his
brother.” She opened the last door on the left, and
Lincoln entered the small bedroom. A child’s room. A
twin bed. A kid’s desk he’d never be able to fit his
knees under. A dresser that had machine screws
sticking out where the knobs should have been.
Action figures and half-constructed LEGO sets piled
beside the desk as if someone had swept the
treasures there with a broom to clear a path to the
bed. A green beanbag chair in the corner surrounded
by toy cars, fire trucks, and army tanks, each
vehicle neatly lined to form an arch around the
giant cloth ball, pointed outward as if to protect
the chair from unwanted visitors. Lincoln smirked.
He’d never sit in the chair. It’d be hell getting
up. But it did seem like a comfy place to get drunk
and pass out.

He shrugged off his
coat and draped it over the back of the desk chair.
The chair teetered, rocking in indecision if it
could hold the weight of the leather jacket.

For the first time
since Lincoln left the jailhouse, the cool air
reached him, and he shivered. “Is the heat on?”

Nancy stood in the
doorway. “The thermostat isn’t right. I keep having
to turn it up to eighty-five to get any heat.”

“I’ll look at it
tomorrow.” He’d also look at the sliding door on the
laundry closet they’d passed in the hall. It was off
the track, the plastic hinge snapped in two.

“Thanks.” She stayed
at the door as if she shouldn’t step inside the
room. Which was bullshit. This was her house, not
his. He’d left his house the day he was arrested and
hadn’t stepped so much as one foot inside since.

It hit him then. How
different his life was going to be now. He’d never
sit in his recliner again. Never watch his
big-screen TV. Never drive another race. Never make
love in his bed.

There were a lot of
things he’d never do.

He was staying in an
eight-by-eight-foot room he’d commandeered from his
ten-year-old nephew. He sat on the edge of the bed
and laughed when he pulled back the blankets and
found sheets and a pillowcase covered in metal
robots from the movie Transformers.

Nancy didn’t laugh
with him. Probably had more to do with what she
tugged out of her pocket than her lack of humor over
the bedcovers. She unfolded the papers and stared at
them for a moment before she handed them to him.
“The insurance I mentioned.”

He snorted as he
looked it over. “Ain’t cheap.”

“It was the only one
that—”

“Would take on a man
who killed someone?”

“Don’t say that.” She
brushed aside the dark bangs that were stuck to her
forehead. “They said they’d insure you for any
vehicle except your race—”

Lincoln held up a
hand. “Yeah. I get it.”

“If you want to sign,
I’ll fax them at work. They said the coverage can
start tomorrow.”

He took the pen from
Nancy and signed the contract. “Am I going
somewhere?”

“I talked to Mitch
like you asked.”

He handed the papers
to her. “And?”

“He said to come by
tomorrow after lunch. You can’t so much as drive a
forklift, but they’ve got some manual work in the
warehouse. He might be able to get you on the
payroll in the next week or two.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you make good
money there?”

“Mitch does okay.”
Lincoln tried to meet her gaze, but she wouldn’t
look at him. “Nancy, are you in trouble?”

“I’m behind on the
utilities.” She swiped at the stubborn pieces of
hair again. “They’re threatening to shut off the
phone. And the electric.”

“It’s the middle of
fucking winter. And you’ve got kids living here. Did
you tell them that?”

She shrugged as if it
wasn’t bothering her. Right. He had to land
the job with Mitch.

He stood and went to
her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She
dropped her head to his chest. If he had been home,
he would’ve seen how much trouble she was in. He
would’ve been able to stop his asshole
brother-in-law from laying another hand on her.

He tickled her sides.
“You won’t kick me out when I get in the way?” He’d
leave in a heartbeat if she wanted him to go. He
wouldn’t be a burden on her.

She giggled and pulled
away from his tickling. The smile on her face
brought out his own. He could’ve sworn his cheeks
creaked with the expression. He hadn’t cracked a
smile since the life he’d known had ended one year
ago.

His last smile had
been the morning of the accident, in the shower as
he looked down at Paul on his knees before him. Paul
had made a lame joke, and the mischievous look in
his eyes teased Lincoln, as did the man’s tongue
swirling over the crown of his dick. He caressed
Paul’s cheek with his thumb as the man set to giving
him a blowjob—the last blowjob he’d had since then.

Lincoln drove the
image away.

He should get laid.
Someone like the guy he’d seen outside Sonny’s.

No. Edgefield wasn’t
the place to cruise for a simple fuck or blowjob.
He’d wait till he could make the fifty-minute trip
to Fort Wayne.

Or maybe he’d wait a
little longer. He wasn’t up to feeling that good.
Not yet.

He spotted three boxes
stacked in front of the closet. He walked to them
and kicked the bottom box. “My stuff?”

Nancy nodded. “He
brought them by a couple of weeks ago. There’s more
in the garage.”

Lincoln grunted.

“He asked about you.
Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Don’t want to talk
about him.”

“He wanted to be there
for you—for the arraignment, the sentencing, all of
it. You pushed him away and that wasn’t fair.”

Nancy shifted on her
feet, her attention on her shoes until she spoke.
“You’ve got to let it go, Linc. Give yourself
permission to forget what happened. Move on.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Forgive yourself.”

That, he couldn’t do.

Nancy was quiet again
until he looked her way. She said, “You have a
chance to start over.”

“But do I deserve it?”

She came to the bed
and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “You do.
And someday you’ll be able to accept that.” She shut
the door behind her before he could argue.

He shouldn’t have said
anything about what he deserved or didn’t deserve.
Nancy didn’t need to deal with his guilt on top of
everything else. He toed off his boots and stretched
out on the bed. His feet hung off the end, the backs
of his ankles digging into the edge of the mattress.
He sat up and leaned against the headboard, then
grabbed the brown sack and pulled out a bottle of
whiskey.

Maybe with enough, he
could close his eyes and not see the woman with red
hair lying broken on the pavement of State Road 91,
her green sweater soaked with blood, her body
perfectly still—too still.